


The Messenger

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Caregiver Fatigue, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, don't let them see you cry, dosing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Gil finds Jessica has been dosing Bright. He pledged to protect Bright, but he's failing. He’s been in his office since.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Don't Let Them See You Cry.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Comments: 5
Kudos: 97
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	The Messenger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elated_witch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elated_witch/gifts).



It starts with the open door policy closing. All the shades are drawn, the lights off, the room shrouded in darkness. The office heeds the warning, continues on their way, and doesn’t return until the doors swing open again. They know it’s because he feels responsible for keeping the team together. That if he cracks, he thinks they’re all going swimming.

It only happens a few times, when it’s someone close to him. His wife, his kid, his team. Boards himself up in the walls of his office, sits on the floor leaning against the door, and waits it out. Reverses the process when red or black turns to muted grey.

Bright had been doing so well. Incident reports hadn’t crossed his desk in two weeks. He hadn’t barreled into any scenes, hadn’t been reckless with his own safety. Had eaten a bite or two with the team over lunch a few times, had even seemed to be getting some sleep.

But Gil finds Jessica has been dosing Bright. Anti-anxiety meds into his mashed potatoes, soup, protein shakes; the few things he eats when he’s at her house. She had the audacity to try to add it to the smoothie on Bright’s desk. And Gil caught her. Walked her grousing out the front door.

He’s been in his office since.

He needs to tell Bright yet another thing has gone wrong in his life. He doesn’t want to be the source of more pain, doesn’t want to see his face crumple when he learns his mother has been playing games with his health. He wants to give him one more day of well, and the day after that, and -

Hell. A tear drips out of his eye for the kid he can’t seem to protect. First he’d promised him, then he’d promised Jackie, then he’d promised himself he’d do whatever he could to shelter him. And it’s still not enough. His chest clenches: _he’s_ not doing good enough.

What was she thinking, anyway? “They wanted to up his dosage, but he wouldn’t take it,” she’d explained. She was helping the process along in the overbearing, illegal, _I want to keep my son alive_ way she knew how. Some part of him knows she also carries the weight of being unable to do enough. Doesn’t make her behavior any less treacherous.

Knowing their best isn’t good enough sucks. Every bit of energy he has seeps into the floor beneath him, wading with the sweat of worry and wear of pacing from trying to keep his agita in.

He stays in his haven, undisturbed for the last hour of work before it’s time to head home. Everyone gets the message, leaves him alone. But his office has two doors, and his kid isn’t one to follow instructions.

The other door cracks. Bright, letting in the smallest sliver that shines off the moisture on his cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We might need some liquor.” Gil gets up from the floor, wiping his face. “Let me take you home.”

“I’m supposed to meet my mother for dinner - ” he starts, thinking perhaps they could have a drink in the office, and Gil could drop him there instead.

“You don’t want to do that,” Gil warns with a sharpness that reveals he’s on edge.

Not that he ever really wants to. “Why?” he wonders.

“Let me take you home,” Gil repeats.

 _Oh_. “Is this like you’re dying bad?” Bright asks, jumping to the worst possible conclusion. If it is, he just wants to know.

“No,” Gil affirms, guiding him to the door.

“I’m fired?” he tries again in the hall, turning the heads of a few people near the coffee.

“No,” Gil say firmly, loud enough so they all hear that response as well. “Let’s go.”

Bright fidgets the entire ride in the car, unable to focus on anything but what Gil wants to talk about. Gil tries bringing up a case, but Bright isn’t connecting, all his brainpower channeled into the future.

By the time they enter the loft, Bright’s hands bounce at his sides. “What?” he asks as Gil closes the door behind him.

“Please, sit.” Gil directs to the kitchen.

Bright plops on a stool and looks up at Gil expectantly with a child’s gaze of _are we there yet?_ Gil pours two glasses of whiskey, seeking the crutch of a glass to hold onto.

“Your mother was at the precinct today,” Gil starts like it was any typical Thursday.

“And…”

“She tried to add a powder to your smoothie,” he reveals, watching the stress sink into the crease in Bright’s forehead.

“She tried to drug me?” His eyes grow to his hairline.

“She has drugged you,” Gil corrects in a direction he wishes they didn’t have to go. Wishes he’d done enough to prevent something like this.

Bright shakes his head like he’s somehow confused the words even though they’re clear as the glass he’s drinking from. “What do you mean?”

“When you go to dinner, she’s been putting powdered anti-anxiety meds into your food,” Gil clarifies, clenching his free thumb into his fingers.

“Unbelievable.” He grits out, getting up again to pace. “I’m a 30-year-old man!” Why couldn’t she get the message to leave him alone?

Anger shoots through Bright’s fist, punching the brick wall at the entryway. It dies as soon as he connects, Sunshine squawking him back, and pain taking its place. “Wait, why are you telling me?” Bright asks, fingers checking across his knuckles.

“She didn’t want to.” He takes a strong pull of whiskey. “I told her that wasn’t acceptable, and here we are.”

Sunshine becomes more interesting than the conversation, as he’s concerned his ruckus may have disturbed her. He opens her cage, invites her to hop onto his unscathed hand, and scritches near her beak. Grooming her to soothe himself.

“Did something happen between you two?” Gil asks, trying to figure out what he may have missed.

“She thinks everything can be solved with a pill,” he tells the cage. “That I should blindly take things that make me feel like shit.”

“Have you?”

“What?”

“Felt like shit.”

“No.” And he quickly adds, “That doesn’t justify this.”

“I’m not implying it does.”

“Kind of sounded like you did,” Bright says with little accusation.

“Kid…”

“I’m sorry, Gil.” He runs his hand over his face and turns to him. “She should have respected my wishes.”

“Yes.”

“Extra meds make it hard to have sex,” he explains his stance. “Something I’m not about to tell my mother.”

“Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter,” Gil affirms he doesn’t agree with her actions. It was easier to curtail her presumptive behaviors when Bright was a train ride away.

“I thought we were done with this.” He sighs. Did she even realize how dangerous messing with his meds was? It was hard enough to get used to consistently taking them, never mind changing them.

“Me too, kid.”

He returns Sunshine to her cage, checking that her water’s clean. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” he indicates, knowing he can’t keep a level head tonight. Hopefully she doesn’t bombard him first. She means well, but sometimes has the worst ways of showing it.

Gil hates there’s a stone in his stomach reminding him he can’t trust Bright enough to leave him alone right now. After his afternoon realization that he hadn’t done enough to protect Bright, he hopes it’s not too much to stick around. “I’ll make you some dinner?” he offers.

“Sure.” He looks at the floor. “I’ll, uh, be out in a bit.”

Bright disappears to the bathroom, closing the blinds and shutting himself in. He wraps his weighted blanket around him and slides to the floor, propping himself against the door. _Why?_ Tears build in his eyes. _Can’t she see him? Isn’t he enough?_

Is anyone?

* * *

_fin_


End file.
